Upon The Hour
by FyreFlie
Summary: One of the minor characters in Yu-Gi-Oh gives us a little insight to his true self and his true feelings for his lover. SLASH


Upon The Hour

Disclaimer: FyreFlie don't own shit.

Summary: One of the minor characters in Yu-Gi-Oh gives us a little insight to his true self and his true feelings for his lover.

Rating: PG-13, for yaoi/slash, references to sex and the odd naughty word.

Notes: Meh…I wasn't too sure whether to post this or not. Especially not as my first Yu-Gi-Oh fic. But it's the only one that's 'finished', so I guess I might as well. I might do a sequel if people like it. If not, then I'll just focus on my other projects and leave this as a one-shot. It's pretty short, 'bout a thousand words or so, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. ^_~

Oh yeah, this is slash/yaoi, by the way. Which reminds me…When I said 'one-shot' just then, I meant the story, not the pairing. I love the pairing in this story, though it isn't very popular. Consists of two of my very favourite characters…That's all I'm gonna say though.

Right, enough of my yammering. On with the story!

Upon The Hour

I lie silently, gazing out of the window at the clock tower across the street as it strikes midnight. Twelve loud chimes stir and wake the body under the covers by my side. I close my eyes, pretending to sleep, as he rises, dresses and leaves without a word. That familiar feeling of my heart cascading, of drowning in my own emptiness and solitude fills me again, like so many nights before. I feel pain, and I cry.

Strong. Arrogant. Cocky. Self-assured. 

Those qualities have flown from me. This is what I have been reduced to. A sobbing emotional wreck, quivering between lonely sheets. And all because I have no control over the things my heart tells me I should be feeling. My head knows better. My head tells me that my feelings are wrong, that there's no point in chasing something that will never be mine with such devotion and desire. It tells me I shouldn't love him. But I do.

He knows. I'm sure that he knows, somehow. But it makes it all the more fun for him. He senses my blind dedication to him every time his hands touch my flesh, every time his lips press against mine. He sees into my soul whenever he looks into my eyes, sees how I ache for his touch as he is permitted to ravage and penetrate my body in any way that he pleases. He realises just how willingly I would die just to see him smile each and every time I satisfy him in the way that only I can. 

He sees all of this. And inside, he is laughing.

He is laughing at what a sentimental fool I can be. Because for every ounce of love I feel for him, he matches that weight with the loathing he feels for me. He may touch me, kiss me, and make love to me with unrivalled tenderness, but I know if truth be told, he despises my mere existence. I am nothing to him, nothing but a worthless dog that will wag its tail at his beckon call. Nothing but some filthy whore who will move heaven and earth to meet his every need and desire. And my only payoff is the feeling in that explosive final moment, the false notion that just maybe, somebody loves me. 

But it isn't real. It's never real. And once the performance has reached its dramatic climax, all of the bright lights have faded and all of the colours melted into darkness, I am left with nothing but the bleak reality and plain fact that I am alone.

Admittedly, it isn't as painful as it once was. It's more something I've come to accept and live with, like an irritating long-lost relative who visits and out-stays their welcome. The only crucial difference is that the door cannot be closed on loneliness. You cannot hide from what is trapped inside you. Goodness knows I've tried. 

Things would be so much easier if I was as cold-hearted as people dub me as. They tell me I'm strong, but what do they know? And what if I was? What if I tried to hate him? What if I told him no? For all the good it would do me. At the end of the day, I'd still end up in an empty bed, and I'd hate myself even more than he hates me. Maybe I already hate myself. I have every reason to. I'm a liar. I'm a lying cowardly whore, who doesn't have enough respect for himself or the one he loves to be honest about what he is doing and for what purpose.

__

It's a physical thing, that's all. All sex and no love. Commitment free, just a bit of casual fun.

That's what it was. How did it change so much? How could my heart end up with him like this? I wish I could pinpoint the moment where I lost all sense of rationality and fell hopelessly head-over-heels for him. But I don't remember. Perhaps my heart was always within his grasp, and all it took was a few sessions of heavy duty fucking for him to reach that little bit further forward and unwittingly capture it in the subtle way that he has done. If only I knew exactly what it was that draws me to him. 

Like a moth to a candle, appropriately. 

Maybe it's because we are so alike in our ways. Perhaps it's purely down to the coincidental fact that somehow, we always end up back together eventually. Or more likely, maybe it's that he is the only person who can stand to be around me for more than five minutes at a time. That said, he has never once remained by my side until morning. I wonder if there is some other bed that he visits after mine. The bed of someone better than I could ever be.

I allow myself a torturous moment of pure masochism as I try to picture him in the arms of another. Screaming his climax as the other thrusts into him and touches his burning flesh. Whispering to the other that he loves them.

I thought I heard him say it once. It was so silent that I couldn't hear it, nor could I read his lips in the darkness of our candlelit motel room. Either way, it was a lie, brought on by the sheer electricity of our frenzied coupling. But in that lone second that both our guards dropped, I felt the racing of my heart, the colour filling my face and my soul overflowing with joy. I fell in love with that feeling and have craved ever since for it to happen again.

But it never has.

The clock tower strikes one. Self-pity aside, I have a duel in the morning. The tears now half dry and viscous against my cheek, I slowly close my stinging eyes and mentally scream at my head to stop spinning so painfully. I fall asleep, his face still on my mind. 

Goodnight Weevil, wherever you may be. 

Rex loves you.

*~*~*

*Ahem* Yeah…Weevil and Rex. They make a cutie couple, neh? ^_^ I'm writing tonnes of these things at the minute. Most of them are a little bit more upbeat than this bugger though! In any case…Enjoy it? Not? Wanna see a sequel? Maybe hear Weevil's side? Wanna see more Weevil/Rex? Let me know!

Thanks for reading!

FyreFlie.

XxX


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